


Foreign Inspiration

by MayLovelies



Series: Vague Differences [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (slight one), Different cultures/races of elves, Friendship, Language Barrier, Other, Some Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-17
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-08-15 11:32:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8054674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MayLovelies/pseuds/MayLovelies
Summary: While walking in the forests around Doriath one evening, in an effort to clear his mind and focus on his music, Finrod makes a rather interesting discovery.





	Foreign Inspiration

Time away from the castle gave Finrod the clarity he needed that evening to perhaps compose another song. Within the shelter of the tall trees, and thick forest, he had reached the point of focus he needed to let his creativity flow.  

Though Finrod did not dislike the company of his Sindar kindred, nor the comfort of the castle or the safety of the Girdle, but sometimes, even one as jubilant as himself needed time to stray away from crowded places and royal banter. There was only so much that could be discussed between royalty, and when Finrod and his sister were not learning from the great Maia or in conversation with Thingol, things were rather dull. For Finrod at least.

So that afternoon, when the sun held just above the trees, the singer took seat near a small stream with his back rested upon the bark. With his harp in hand, he began to pluck the strings rather absently, and attempted to find a tune that would best sooth his wise ears. He knew like any song he’d write, it would take time, but Finrod had time. For if this song was to be just as grand as the previous, he’d need patience.

He closed his eyes and continued on his task, plucking and strumming tunes of ease until, a noise caught his attention.

Not quite the correct song, or a tune pleasing to the ear for this was a sound of nature…A cracking branch, a subtle foot step. Without really thinking about it, it had occurred to Finrod that he was not alone in these woods.

As he placed his instrument upon the ground, he stood to his full height. Absently reaching a hand towards the handle of his sword, Finrod wondered if he’d made a mistake traveling to far out of the Girdle. Fearing an orc may have followed him, he prepared to slaughter the wretched creature. It would not take long, but it would be a shame that his beautiful clothes would fall victim to the blood of filth.

Regardless, Finrod had to protect himself from his enemy no matter what and if truly, there were only a few orcs, this would be quick.

The noise progressed and was now louder. By this time, Finrod identified the sound from a bush near him and prepared to step forward. There was certainly something rummaging about the forest, growing closer and closer. As Finrod unsheathed his sword and prepared to strike, the creature suddenly revealed itself.

It came from the bushes very slowly and subtly, not even aware of the near impending doom that it faced. It was certainly short, shorter than any Noldor elf, even as it stood to its full height. Also, it was not an _it,_ at all. _He,_ was actually an elf, and from what Thingol had told him, it was one of the less social and less wise Silvans who lived outside of Doriath.

He bore long curly hair that had clumps of dirt in it (after a good wash it would appear silver), and his skin was a color of dark olive that Finrod had never in his life seen before. So many shades deeper than any High Elf he’d ever seen, Finrod was momentarily captivated by the foreign beauty,  and by now extremely curious. The Silvan continued to gaze down upon the forest floor, his light blue eyes mirroring Finrod’s harp. Slowly yet suddenly, he walked towards it with a hand outstretched; he wanted to touch it.

It was the sheathing of Finrod’s sword that caught the Silvan’s attention and he perked up very fast. As if he had not yet noticed the tall Noldor prince before him, he gazed up at the elf in a panic. Finrod, seeming to realize his mistake, quickly held his hands in the air in a calm surrender. He knew the little elf wouldn’t hurt him, yet he feared he’d run away. Finrod had never seen anything so obscure and interesting; to think he’d frighten such a creature to the point of never seeing him again unsettled him. He was more curious than wary.

“Do not fear, little one. I am no enemy, you simply started me.” Finrod spoke, dropping his arms to his side. Though a hand rested on the handle of his sword. “See, it is sheathed. I will not hurt you, you are in no danger.” He released the hold on his weapon and stared at the now visibly, clueless elf. It was if what he said, had no effect on the Silvan as he gazed curiously.

Finrod attempted two more greetings in different languages and still, no response from the elf. He simply shrugged, understanding the Silvans to be less civilized and wise. It was to be expected that he did not know the language of the High Elves. Still, Finrod wanted to have some conversation with him, so he sat down, reaching for his harp once again to play.

At that moment the elf sat as well for some time, yet soon after crawled towards Finrod. The Noldor prince believed the elf’s interests to be his beautifully crafted harp, but he grabbed for something completely different. And that just happened to be Finrod’s golden hair. He climbed upon the Eldar and took a hold of his bangs, Finrod simply let him feel to his heart’s desire, not sure of what to do. It was clearly evident the Silvan was entranced by such a color of hair.

“I see you have taken an interest in my hair?” Finrod questioned. “Many say it is beautiful, I am glad you think so as well…however, many have golden hair where I come from! What I find very beautiful, yet foreign, is the skin upon your body. I have never seen such a beautiful color painted upon any elf. None in Valinor nor Doriath have such a tone, it is quite amazing.”

The elf eventually grew bored of Finrod’s hair and recoiled. As he crawled off of the prince, he left prints of dirt from his bare feet and dirty clothes on Finrod’s white robes, but Finrod did not mind. He sat near his elf friend who seemed to be stationary on the forest floor as well. Finrod then took hold of his harp and began to play. The elf sat next to him in silence and watched as he plucked the strings, a grin formulating across his face.

Finrod responded with a grin as well. “You love the sound of the harp as I do, do you?” He placed a hand on the little elf’s shoulder, finding a burst of inspiration. “Then I think my next song, will be about you. For never have I seen a more foreign, yet beautiful elf.”

And with that, Finrod played as his silvan listened on.

**Author's Note:**

> Unintentionally, I think many of the Noldor had low, somewhat disrespectful opinions of the lower elves. I mean it is canon, the Silvan Elves of Mirkwood are seen as less wise. But to me it would be interesting to see a Noldor meet, and have true interest and curiosity of not just a Silvan elf itself, but their culture too. While Finrod's through process is not the best, I do feel that he himself would be very interested and intrigued by Silvan natives, rather than repulsed by them. SO yeah, I wanted to write him meeting one for the first time and being curious, just as the elf was. This is just a Silvan Original character of mine that I obviously pair with Finrod. This is the first installment of their story.


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